


Warming Up

by Ammeh



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Consensual Somnophilia, Creampie, F/M, Female My Unit | Byleth, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Marathon Sex, No Refractory Period, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Social Reproductive Pressures, Vaginal Sex, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:01:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26590312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ammeh/pseuds/Ammeh
Summary: Byleth learns that Dimitri's crest bestows additional stamina in areas beyond the battlefield.The castle laundresses are going to hate them in the morning.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 37
Kudos: 486
Collections: FE3H Kink Meme, ~R18 Dimileth Bingo~





	Warming Up

**Author's Note:**

> Written for both the kink meme (prompt for wedding night marathon sex) and R18 Dimileth Bingo.

Byleth wonders if it would have been a better idea to hold the ceremony at Garreg Mach if they were going to marry during the Guardian Moon.

The nightgown she'd been given from the stores when she arrived last month is _warm,_ thick fabric and a cut that covers every inch of her skin, and came with a dressing gown on top of that. If she were in that, she'd be fine—but Mercedes and Annette had been so excited to pick out her wedding night attire, and now she's sitting on the edge of the royal bed in a nightgown so thin it's almost transparent, with no sleeves and a loose neckline that leaves everything from her collarbones to the top of her cleavage exposed to the open air.

She hadn't thought much of it when it was handed to her back in Mercedes' guestroom—the lace was nice—but whoever built the fire in here clearly thought the occupants would be in bed with the drapes pulled, breaking a sweat. Not sitting here alone, waiting for their new husbands to escape the throng of chatty nobles and join them. Why do Faerghus traditions dictate she retire first?

She can hear some motion in the next room, finally, but given how long it had taken her to divest herself of her wedding attire and elaborately coiffed hair, it'll probably still be a while. (Well, how long it had taken her _and_ her new lady's maid. It still feels odd to have someone else help her dress and undress, but she supposes formal wear is kind of like heavy armor in that respect.)

The chill air raises the hairs on her arms, and she briefly considers climbing under the covers and waiting there, but if she's already gone to all this trouble to wear a pretty nightgown for Dimitri she's determined to _show it off._

Her nipples are stiff, and she's not sure if it's just from the cold, or from her errant musings about how this is going to go. Will he like the nightgown? Will he be hesitant and look to her to take charge, or will he push her down and spread her open?

Finally, the door opens, and Dimitri enters. He's gone from full royal finery to just his shirt and trousers, fitted in a way that shows off his broad chest and shoulders. She's not used to seeing him out of armor and it's yet another reminder that they're going to be _fucking_ tonight. The eager tension in her stomach jumps up another notch.

He stops a few feet from the bed and gapes at her. “That's...a different nightgown.”

He'd seen her neck-to-ankle nightgown once before, in the days before the wedding when she'd stopped by his study one night to discuss troop distribution. (She's since been informed that this meeting was very scandalous.)

She shrugs. “I'm told it's traditional to give your new husband something pretty to take off.”

His cheeks flare red, and he clears his throat before sitting down beside her. The mattress dips under his weight, and part of her wants to let it disrupt her balance so she'll fall against him, but her reflexes are too ingrained. “I admit, I was expecting that we would reminisce about the ceremony and feast for a while before...being intimate.”

“Do you want to?”

He swallows hard, gaze dropping to where the swell of her breasts peeks out the top of her nightgown. “Not particularly.”

“Then let's skip it.”

Now _she's_ the one caught off-guard, because that was apparently the only cue he needed to pull her into his lap and bury his face in her neck. He kisses up the column of her throat, and it's not something she ever thought about much, so the sharp flare of arousal is startling. Was her neck always that sensitive?

The fabric of her nightgown is so thin that his hand on the curve of her waist is searing, thin enough that she can feel his weapon calluses catch on the line of an old scar on her side.

His kisses make their way up to her jawline and she wants to feel them on her _mouth_ , wants more than the brief pecks they exchanged in the ceremony and that one daring night in his study. She grabs the back of his head and tilts his face up, closes the distance between their lips. (She sends a silent thank-you to the maid who'd insisted she start using an oil to prevent her lips from chapping.)

Dimitri's mouth is hot under hers, soft, and he responds eagerly when she starts to move their lips together. She doesn't part from him until she runs out of the breath she didn't realize she was holding, and has to pull back to suck in air. It's only a moment, but it's still too long, and she dives back in with such vigor that her teeth clack against the inside of her lip. Oops.

Dimitri's running his hands up her sides and back, disturbing the loose fabric of the nightgown as his hands hungrily map out her body. But there are still places he's avoiding, and she wants to feel him there.

She twists a little, so his hand brushes the side of her tit.

He freezes.

It's only for a moment before he surges back into motion, that brush of palm against her tit turning into a _grab,_ his other hand gripping her hip just a little too firmly. There's something wild in his gaze when he pulls back, close to a look she'd hoped to never see there again, but with a very different sort of hunger behind it.

He scrambles for her neck again, chin bumping into her collarbone as he kisses a frantic line down to her cleavage. When his lips hit the point where the swell of one breast is just peeping over her bodice, he just yanks the loose neckline of her nightgown down over her tits and keeps going.

Even with how thin her nightgown is, the cool air on her chest is a momentary shock, but it just makes his mouth and hands feel all the hotter as they rush in to fill the void. She'd known abstractly that Dimitri was interested in her tits, had known ever since she saw how he stammered when she showed up to training one day without her medallion--but he's _ravenous_ for them, one hand (his hands are so _big_ ) weighing her right tit even as he bends to suck her left nipple into his mouth.

She gasps, clutching at his hair and squirming as he works her nipple with lips and teeth. At some point she'd gone from sitting in his lap to straddling it, and under the fabric bunched up beneath her she feels something firm glance her thigh. It's only a brief touch, but the knowledge of what it must've been sends a jolt of arousal through her.

Dimitri releases her left nipple, but only to go for the right. Her damp skin tightens with chill for a moment before his warm palm moves to cover it. His hands barely rest--lifting her tits towards his mouth, kneading, caressing, squeezing. Once both her nipples are both reddened and tight from his lips and teeth, he unleashes that same hunger on the rest of her chest—burying his face between her tits to kiss the valley between, cuddling his cheek up against them, lifting them and pressing them together so he can nuzzle along the seam.

For her part, Byleth works on unbuttoning his shirt. Her breath catches as it falls open to reveal his chest and abs...maybe she understands how he felt, a little. She wants to squish her body against him, sit down against that hardness in his lap and grind while they press their fronts together—but then he wouldn't be able to reach her tits with his mouth. Instead, she unbuttons his pants: one fewer barrier between them. The front of his pants must have been holding things in, because the bulge under her hands becomes more pronounced as she releases it. Dimitri's head is blocking her view but she can feel the heat of him through his underwear, feel how the fabric is humid and stretched taut over his erection.

He pulls back from her tits with a ragged gasp, and lunges for her lips again, even as his hands keep playing with her tits. That's all the reason she needs to press down into his lap, so she does, squirming down until she can feel the pressure of his erection against her mound through the fabric between them.

Until that first hint of pressure against her clit, Byleth hadn't realized quite how aroused she was. She groans into his mouth, grinding forward against that hardness as she runs her hands up his back. Even through his shirt she can feel the ridges of scars—impressive ones, from the feel of it—but she's more interested in how warm and solid his body feels against her.

One of his hands releases her tits and lands on the small of her back, sliding down to her ass to pull her even tighter against him. His hips buck up to meet her, sending sharp shocks of pleasure bolting through her.

She sucks his lip between her teeth, just experimenting, not really expecting the low groan he makes as her teeth drag over the inside of his lower lip. He squeezes the meat of her ass, fingers sinking in rather than simply resting there--then he copies what she just did, and _oh_. She gets it now.

His hands starts to trail even further down, along her thigh, down until he reaches the hem of her nightgown and dips under it. She parts her thighs a little to give him better access, and his hand runs up the back of her bare thigh. She knows it's wet down there, she can feel the fabric starting to cling, but the glide of his fingers up her skin starts to slip a few inches below her groin, and she hadn't realized it was _that_ wet.

Dimitri hadn't either, from his sharp inhale.

She sits up a little, to give him better access to her cunt if he wants to touch it, and takes the opportunity to pull his cock out of his underwear.

It's heavy in her hand, thick and hot, and he gasps into her mouth as she wraps her hand around it. His fingers hit the damp curls between her thighs and everything feels impossibly slippery. She wants to rub it over him and slide her clit against his cock and—

Once the thought's struck her she can't let it go. She adjusts her skirts so his cock's inside the tent formed by her nightgown and scoots forward to grind the top of her slit against the shaft of his cock.

His moan's startled but _hungry_ , two fingers plunging up into her to the second knuckle with shocking ease. The stretch is like three of her own but it's comfortable, she's relaxed and soaking like she's been fingering herself for ages. She's had fingers before, she doesn't want that right now, she wants--

She slides forward a little, so Dimitri's cock is brushing against his own knuckles where they're hanging out of her pussy.

He pulls his hand back. She nestles the head of his cock against her sopping wet hole. She means to just slide against him, keep grinding together skin-to-skin this time, but it would be so easy to...

She pushes down, just a little, just to feel the strain of it, and the tip of his cock sinks inside her—only the very tip, not even down to the ridge of the head.

He makes a strangled noise into her mouth, both of his hands landing warm and heavy on her ass. And she's not sure if she pushes herself further down or he pulls her, but suddenly his cock is spreading her open.

She's not sure how much is inside her, but it's an emphatic presence in her cunt, pushing her walls aside to make space for itself, demanding her attention.

Dimitri inhales raggedly, fingers flexing against her ass. “I pictured us at least making it out of our clothes,” he says, even as his hips buck up into her.

“Mmnngh,” she says, clenching her eyes shut and sliding further down onto him, letting him stretch her further open.

“You make a compelling point,” he gasps, clutching at her.

She lifts herself up, and it makes his cock slide against her inner walls, weird and raw and _good._ When she starts to push back down he pulls her by the hips, and they come together even deeper this time, until her thighs settle against his pelvis.

She wraps her arms around his neck, leans in closer so her tits are squished against his torso and she can bury her face in his neck. The chill against her back makes her want to lose herself even further in him, burrow in and.... Wait, if she tilts a little she can sort of grind against his abs. _Fuck_.

Byleth wiggles in place, pushing her mound into his abs, feeling out the shift of his cock inside her. He groans into her hair, and uses his hands and hips to amplify her movements in his lap until they find a rhythm, a bouncing grind that puts pressure on her clit with every undulation.

Part of her wants to laugh at them a little, so impatient they didn't even make it all the way onto the bed...but it's been months of waiting for this, and even longer before that hoping. She's done, they waited, she wants this _now_.

The pressure's getting better and better, her abdomen's tensing—she clutches hard at his shirt and _comes_ , clenching down around the solid weight inside her.

Dimitri groans, and draws his head back. His hands tighten on her ass, he feels even harder inside her somehow--and then he leans in and crushes their mouths together again, and she can feel warmth spreading inside her pussy.

The thought has her grinding her hips forward again, kissing him back hard. The fabric of her nightgown shifts under his hands as he kneads her ass. Excess liquid is starting to drip out onto his shaft as he keeps throbbing inside her.

And fuck, they might be _\--_ She moans, wiggling down to chase the last pulses as Dimitri's kisses grow slightly less frantic.

He slides her nightgown up her thighs, pulls it off over her head and tosses it across the room. (A little overdue, but better late than never.) Pulling her body to his chest, he stands up.

She's not used to being carried around, much less carried around _stuck on a cock_ , so she clings tighter than is probably necessary as he pulls the blankets down. She can hear come drip down and hit the bed when he lifts her off of him, and kind of wishes he'd stayed inside her to keep the sheets clean, because she feels so _empty_. But he just sets her down on the back in the middle of the bed, the sheet cool under her, and they're probably going to cuddle. Maybe she can rub herself off again while they snuggle. She doesn't think he'd mind.

But instead of lying beside her, Dimitri climbs onto the bed on his knees. He shrugs out of his open shirt and tosses it behind him, then urges her thighs apart so he can kneel between them.

She looks down. He's still hard. _Oh._

Yes, they should definitely fuck again, that's a good plan. She scrambles to get her legs around his waist and pulls him closer with her heels. He reaches down and lines the head of his cock up with her pussy—and then his hips hit her ass as he stuffs her full again in a single stroke.

She thought men were supposed to need breaks, but she's not complaining.

“You feel...astounding,” he gasps, one hand coming up to support her hip as he starts to thrust. The other hand roams over her body: following the curve of her side, tracing a scar up her abdomen, tugging at her nipples.

She nods, intending to convey “you too” and not “yeah, I do”--she's not sure whether it comes across, but her voice doesn't want to work at the moment. It feels so different like this—wetter from the come inside her, Dimitri's cock plunging deep on each stroke where before they were mostly grinding against each other. The angle's hitting some spot on her inner walls that feels way too good, and she doesn't realize she's making noise until she's startled by the vibration of her own throat.

Dimitri's watching her with an intensity that's almost unnerving, his gaze as hungry as the motions of his hips. Her tits are bouncing as he ploughs into her, and she thinks that's what he's staring at, but no, maybe it's her face. She can feel it starting to crack, doesn't know if she's ever made this expression before, isn't used to her facial muscles feeling this distorted.

Whatever spot he keeps hitting inside her has her right on the edge. She reaches down to rub her clit.

His eye tracks the movement, and she knows that expression well. He's studying what she's doing. Learning.

Almost unconsciously, she adjusts her hand for a better viewing angle, and exaggerates her motions slightly to show what she's doing more clearly.

The shift to instructor mode must be noticeable, because Dimitri chuckles. “How am I doing so far, Professor _?_ ” he asks, driving his hips forward.

“I'll need to—nn!—see your dismount to give you a grade,” she gasps.

He laughs. “I'm afraid that might be a while.” His cock plunges into her again. “Although, let me know if you'd like me to stop at any point.”

“No.” She shakes her head quickly. “Keep going.” She's so _close_.

The side of his lip curls up in satisfaction. The sight of him like that, between her legs, hips swinging into her...

Abandoning any pretense of instruction, she rubs faster at her clit. There's a pressure building inside her with each press of Dimitri's cock, one that feels like it might overflow, but she's not sure—

Her legs tighten convulsively around Dimitri's waist, her spine arches, and she shudders apart on her fingers.

Still clenching with aftershocks, she pulls Dimitri in with her heels, manipulating the rhythm into something more palatable to her sensitive cunt.

Now that she's not chasing her own immediate climax, she can take her time to watch his face—how his lips are parted in pleasure, how his eye keeps briefly fluttering shut, the flush that's spread over his cheeks. There's a tension starting to build in his brow, his movements growing strained.

His hips stutter, his cock stiffens inside her, and with a long groan, he presses so tight into the cradle of her hips that she can feel the muscles of her inner thighs stretching.

Just when it's starting to edge into uncomfortable, he pulls back, and fluid immediately starts to leak down her ass. Before it can hit the bed, she twists herself off the bed and stands, squeezing her legs shut to avoid drips. “I should wipe up so we're not sleeping in a puddle.”

She scans the room for some sort of rag, or at least a handkerchief. She doesn't know what half the furniture in this room is for. _Nobles._

The dresser with a stool and an attached mirror might be for makeup, maybe that one? She shuffles over with her legs held together. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Dimitri finally taking off his pants. Whoops.

The top of the—she thinks it's called a “vanity”?—has nothing useful, just an assortment of creams and jewelry boxes, so she bends to check the drawers. There are a lot of them. And she's starting to get cold again.

After checking the fourth unnecessarily-segmented compartment, she sees Dimitri approach in the mirror, a cloth in his hand.

“They left some face cloths and water on the nightstand.” Coming up behind her, he wraps his arms around her waist. He's so _broad_ behind her in the mirror, it's...

Byleth takes a half-step back to press against him. She can feel his cock digging into her lower back.

His hand slides up her torso to cradle one of her tits. With the other, he reaches down and runs the cloth slowly along the crevice of her thighs, until she parts them.

Tenderly, Dimitri drags the cloth up her inner thighs. One hand leisurely plays with her breasts as he wipes between her legs, folds the cloth in half, and repeats.

“How is that?” he asks, mouth behind her ear.

“I'm not sure,” she says. “You should check.”

His fingers slide between her pussy lips, feeling out her clit, her labia, her still-wet entrance. A little more semen leaks out as he slides a testing finger into her cunt.

She moans.

The cloth falls to the floor.

Neither of them react to the wet plop. The broad pads of Dimitri's fingertips press in just above her clit. He rubs her in a slow circle, mimicking her motions from before, soft and tentative.

“How is that?” he asks, voice low.

“A little firmer— _yes_ , like that.”

He makes a pleased noise into her hair, using his arms to pull her even more tightly against his body. His torso is snug against her back, his balls and the base of his shaft nestled against the peak of her ass. His other hand continues to play with her breast—tweaking her nipple, sinking his fingers into the soft flesh.

His ministrations between her legs are getting more confident, as he learns from her moans and the minute jerks of her hips.

She can't take her eyes off the sight of them in the mirror—his muscled arms wrapped around her, groping her. His chest is too broad to be obscured by her body, and over the top of her head, his clear blue eye is fixed on her—no, on their reflection.

The tip of his cock is smearing something slick onto her lower back. She rocks back against him, grinding her ass against the base of his cock as he fondles her.

“Ah—stay on the left,” she gasps, pushing back against him. “Right there—ah—mm!” Her hips buck forward into his hand as she comes on his fingers, her face in the mirror fractured in the moment before her eyes scrunch shut.

She can feel him rutting against her back as she trembles, and her pussy clenches. “You should fuck me again.”

She figures they'll go back to the bed, but he just lifts one of her legs onto the vanity and hoists her up by the hips, bringing her pussy up to the level of his cock. It leaves her other leg dangling, tiptoes straining to touch the ground, and she braces her hands in front of her to hold her up.

The head of Dimitri's cock noses at her hole, and she groans hungrily, pressing back against him as he slides inside her.

His first few thrusts are awkward, adjusting to the new angle, but once he's found his stride the pace quickly turns savage. The stout jars at her fingertips inch across the polished wood as Dimitri pounds into her so hard the vanity rattles.

Her arms are straining and her breasts heaving as each thrust threatens to pitch her forward. The mirror's vibrating, but she can still watch them. In their reflection she can see Dimitri's arms flexing as he pulls their hips together, flashes of his cock each time it withdraws before slamming back into her pussy. How he's watching their bodies come together, just as intently as she is.

A box on the edge of the vanity topples to the floor and Dimitri doesn't even pause. She's seen him in a single-minded trance before, but not this expression, like he's working out years of repressed lust on her pussy. And he's got a ways to go.

Each thrust is drilling right into that spot he was rubbing over last time, and she's gasping with it, pussy twitching hungrily. She can't touch herself because she needs both arms to keep her balance, and it's maddening.

Even on its own, it's good, though. She focuses on the sensation for what it is, on the sounds of their fucking, on the visceral reflection of Dimitri's hands clutching her hips from behind. It's...really _really_ good, actually.

Heat pours between her legs. Suddenly the inside of her cunt pulses with pleasure, her elbows threaten to buckle, and bliss crashes out in a slow wave over her entire body. She's moaning too loudly, someone will hear in the next tent—no that's right they're in the royal chamber...why does her face look so strange in the mirror—oh _fuckfuckfuck—_

It just keeps _going_ , ebbing and flaring as Dimitri keeps ramming into that spot. Her free leg is twitching, quivering against his. She can't stop gasping.

She doesn't know how long it's been when Dimitri pants, “Sorry, I—” and his hands tighten on her hips. He drives into her once, twice more and shoves in deep, his pelvis pushing her up as his face clenches in the mirror and he pumps her full yet again.

The pleasurable contractions slowly fade, and she's left panting, brain fuzzy and euphoric.

“Sorry,” Dimitri repeats as he pulls out. “I interrupted you.” He lifts her leg off the vanity and settles her gently back on her feet.

“I—” She blinks. Dimitri's not behind her anymore. Wait, he's back, he's handing her a cup of water. “I don't even know how long I was going. It felt like a long time.”

She catches a flash of a proud smile on his face before it's hidden behind his own cup. “It was.”

Byleth shrugs, sipping at the cup in her hand. “Then something had to interrupt at some point.” She takes another gulp. "It didn't feel like it was going to stop on its own.”

“Still,” he says, contrite. “If I had more control, I could have kept going longer. You looked like you were enjoying yourself.”

She nods, still a little dazed, and drains the rest of the cup.

He plucks the cup from her hand and sets it on the vanity before scooping her up with one arm under her back and the other behind her knees. “Then please, allow me to make it up to you.”

He brings them back to the bed and sits down on the edge with her in his lap, then picks her up by the ass and lifts her pelvis up to his face.

Instinctively, she reaches for the bedpost to keep her balance, but he's holding her steady, no danger of falling. She swings her legs over his shoulders.

He's staring wide-eyed at her pussy. “It looks so _small_ ,” he marvels, shifting her so his thumb can reach over to play at the entrance. She can feel a fat bead of fluid plop out onto his chest. “You're so full of me,” he adds, a little awestruck, sliding his thumb into the first knuckle and tugging gently so more leaks out of her.

He clears his throat. “Sorry. I'm letting my mind wander. Between Sylvain and Dedue I think I understand the theory, but let me know if I do this incorrectly,” he says, and lifts her pussy to his mouth.

The flat of his tongue settles in over her clit, rubbing over it in broad circles. She gasps, clutching at the bedpost as her still-sensitive pussy twitches at his touch. She can feel her hole dripping come out onto his chin.

He keeps going, his tongue exploring her folds like he's mapping her out. He plays with her labia, traces the perimeter of her hole, licks a broad stroke down the length of her, even dips the tip of his tongue into her where her hole's still dripping his semen.

When he finally returns to her clit, she's wound up enough that her free hand flies to his head to keep him there. She threads her fingers into his hair and urges him forward, a demanding noise leaving her throat. (At the back of her mind, a detached voice of reason informs her that she's already had plenty, but it can shut right back up.)

Dimitri obliges, tongue rubbing over her in a pattern that roughly mimics what she'd guided him to do earlier with his fingers. One of his hands leaves her ass, and _fuck_ , he's holding her up one-handed, that's really...

She bites her lip, trying not to grab too tightly at his hair, her knees trembling over his shoulders as he keeps working her clit with his tongue. The arm he'd freed is bobbing rhythmically—she can't see his hand but he must be stroking himself—and the thought that he got so hot from eating her pussy that he had to touch himself sends a fresh spike of heat through her.

Her body wants to hump forward into his tongue, but she doesn't have enough leverage--her pelvis is suspended in midair, held where he wants it. The best she can do is try to pull him in with her hand on his head, but thankfully he obliges.

Her cunt clenches around nothing, and she feels another gush of liquid soak his chin and trickle down her ass, falling between them. She doesn't even know if it's still his come at this point or if her body's juicing up for another round.

“Faster,” she groans, fingers clenching tight enough in his hair that it must pull.

He moans, shoving his face even deeper into her cunt, his head starting to move as much as his tongue as he tries to bring her off. She can feel his shoulder jerking faster under her thigh, like his hand's speeding up along with his tongue.

Dimitri makes a muffled noise between her legs, and she feels something hot splash her ass, but he doesn't slow down. He sucks her clit between his lips and--

She comes with a shudder, the balls of her feet digging into his back, clutching at the bedpost as her body tries to curl in on itself.

Once she's stopped trembling, he lowers her down into his lap again, and she can see what a mess they both are. Splashes and drips of his own come all over his chest, his face smeared with her slick and more of the same. Her inner thighs feel tacky, she's got come cooling on her ass, and they've both got hair stuck to their temples with sweat.

“We should clean up,” she says, gently wiping a smear of come on his cheekbone off with her thumb. (How did that even get there?)

She never thought she'd like being carried around, but it's starting to send a little thrill through her whenever he picks her up. Maybe it's how effortlessly he does it. Or maybe it's that the alternative is shuffling around with her legs together trying not to leak on the floor.

The bathing room attached to the royal bedroom is spacious, with a large copper tub against one wall. Dimitri fiddles with the taps to fill it (the plumbing in the castle still impresses her), and throws a handful of dried herbs from a basket into the heated water. They did that this morning too, when they insisted on helping her bathe for the wedding. And here she'd spent this entire month thinking those baskets of herbs were just air fresheners.

Dimitri moves to step into the bath, and she frowns in confusion.

“Aren't you going to take off your eyepatch?”

He pauses, and reaches up to touch it self-consciously. “Ah. I tend to forget I have it on. I'll spare you the sight, it shouldn't interfere overmuch in the bath.”

“It's got come on the straps.”

“Oh.” His shoulders slump.

“If you don't want me to see, I'll turn away while you change it for a clean one, but I can promise you I've seen more gruesome scars.”

He sighs. “No, I may as well get it over with. You'll see it sooner or later.”

Stiffly, he hooks his fingers into the straps and eases the eyepatch over his head, his entire body screaming nervous tension.

Honestly, it's one of the prettier eye injuries Byleth's seen. The lid's scrunched shut, warped with a straight scar that extends less than an inch down onto his cheek. Still, he's clearly self-conscious about showing it to her, so it must bother him.

“It looks cleanly healed—I'm glad.” She brings her hand up to his cheek. “Is it sensitive? Should I avoid touching it?”

“No, thankfully. Some of my other scars can be sensitive at times, but this one is quiet. Honestly, the occasional strain on my other eye is more bothersome than the actual injury.”

She really needs to drag him to a healer at some point to see if there's anything that can be done for his more long-term complaints when they're not focused on fixing some acute injury, but now's not the time to discuss it.

“That's good,” she says, pulling him down into a kiss.

He melts into her, the tension slowly easing out of his shoulders.

They get clean eventually, but not before she rides him in the bathtub, hot water sloshing around them, her tits half-submerged and bobbing against his chest.

By the time they've dried off and drunk more water to cool down, exhaustion is starting to catch up with her. It's been a long day: dragged out of bed at the crack of dawn to spend hours getting done up for the ceremony, parading through Fhirdiad so all of Dimitri's— _their_ —subjects got a chance to see them, struggling to simultaneously remember every crash course she's gotten in courtly etiquette over the last several months, dealing with the barrage of congratulations from simpering minor lords determined to make up for falling in line with the Dukedom...

“Bed?” she asks, and Dimitri nods.

Her nightgown is dirty from earlier, and with her body now cooled off from both the bath and the sex, the chill of the room makes the prospect of hunting down which piece of furniture now houses her nightclothes extremely unappealing. Once they've banked the fire and extinguished the lamps, she just crawls naked between the sheets. They're cool on her skin, but soon Dimitri snuggles up behind her and wraps an arm around her waist.

They've only been lying there for a minute when his cock starts to perk up again against her ass.

“Sorry,” he says, shifting his hips back so it's not touching her.

She makes a sleepy noise and nuzzles into the pillow. If he doesn't want to go again, she's not going to complain.

His fingers are playing absently over her skin, like he's doing it unconsciously. He's stroking a patch just under her breast back and forth with his fingertips. It's nice. But having his hands so close to her bare tit makes her kind of want...

She shifts down, just a bit, and soon his idle motions are tracing the seam below her breast, his knuckles brushing along the underside. His thumb starts stroking the side of her tit.

As if he suddenly realized what he was doing, he suddenly jerks his hand away. “Sorry,” he says again. “Your skin is softer than mine. You feel nice. But I should be better able to control myself.”

His hand settles on her stomach, pointedly still.

A few minutes later, it's found its way back up to her tits. Heat's starting to simmer between her legs again. Byleth inches backward, and the head of Dimitri's prick bumps into her ass. He gasps and jerks forward, nestling the shaft between her cheeks.

His absent fondling of her tits morphs into a full-on grope, and he freezes. “Sorry.” He lets go of her and backs away. “I...clearly lack the necessary self-control to cuddle. I'll leave you alone.”

She scoots back until their bodies meet again. “If you want to fuck again, we can. As long as you don't mind if I'm not very active.”

Dimitri inhales sharply. “Are you sure?” he asks, hand flying back up to her tits.

“Go ahead.”

He snuggles close again, and his cock slides between her labia. He rubs along the length of her slit, smearing her wetness over her clit as he fondles her breasts. “You feel _so good_ ,” he gasps into the back of her neck.

Soon his rubbing is making wet noises between her legs, and the head of his prick prods at her hole.

She makes an encouraging noise that turns into a gasp as his cock squeezes into her pussy. It feels massive from this angle, insistently pushing her open until her body reshapes to accommodate it.

Dimitri's hands play over her tits and stomach as he rocks into her. Pressed tight against her back, he lays kisses on her shoulder, her hair, the back of her neck.

Okay, maybe... _one_ more for today. Her hand slips between her legs. She rubs herself off into one last, lazy orgasm, squeezing down around the fullness inside her as she comes.

It makes Dimitri groan into her hair, the pace of his hips increasing until he stills with a ragged gasp.

She moans contentedly, snuggling into his arm. He holds her close, still inside her. She's starting to drift off when she notices that his cock doesn't seem to be getting softer, that his hips are starting to flex minutely.

“Still not tired?”

He makes a disgusted noise in his throat, like he's ashamed of himself. “Apologies. I'll go over to the other side of the bed and let you sleep.”

She grabs his wrist to keep him from pulling away. “Keep going for as long as you want. I might fall asleep, but I don't mind.” Honestly, the thought of Dimitri availing himself of her body while she sleeps is...wow. Almost enough to perk her back up for another round.

He jerks in surprise. “You want me to...to make love to you while you're sleeping?” he asks, as if he's sure he misheard her.

“Yeah. Sounds sexy, actually.” She yawns. “Don't worry about waking me up. Just go ahead.” After a lifetime of sleeping in camps surrounded by rowdy warrior types and an ever-changing assortment of wildlife, she's quite good at only waking up for threats.

As she drifts off to sleep, warm and safe and exhausted, she can feel Dimitri's hips starting to roll against her ass, slow and reserved, his cock nudging in and out of her with painstaking care.

_She dreams they're back at Garreg Mach._

_It's the height of the war and they're planning their advance on Fhirdiad, poring over maps and spy reports. She's trying to arrange pieces on a map to plan out how the troops will advance, but she has to stretch out her arm and strain forward to reach them, because she's not standing at the table, she's sitting in Dimitri's lap._

_His cock's right behind her, jutting proudly upwards, and she doesn't know why she's not sitting on it, honestly. It's not supposed to be out in the open like that, she should cover it up._

_She lifts up and slides her pussy down onto it to conceal it, letting it spread her wide. That's better._

_She tries to keep positioning the troop markers, but the weight in her pussy is too distracting. She keeps dropping them, or sitting back and rocking in Dimitri's lap instead of picking them up at all. It feels so good. She moans._

“ _Professor?” Ingrid asks distantly._

_She focuses, reaches out to adjust the positions along the eastern wall. Dimitri bucks up into her and her arm jolts, knocking everything out of place._

_Seteth gives her a quizzical look across the table. It's all she can do to keep her face composed as Dimitri bounces her on his cock._

_She's gasping, she keeps getting louder, she's going to come, someone will notice—_

Her orgasm crashes over her and when she opens her eyes the pieces she was reaching for are gone. Her throat's vibrating in the middle of a moan. Her clit's pulsing hungrily against fingers that aren't hers. Something hot is humping frantically into her cunt.

Wasn't she just in the war—no, that was a dream. She's on a bed, on her side, and she's _coming_. Dimitri's behind her, hoisting her leg up into the air, fucking her awake.

Right. She fell asleep. Grey light's filtering through the windows. How long has it been? Her throat's dry. Her cunt's welcoming Dimitri's prick like it lives there. She wants it to.

The sound of him churning into her is loud, sloppy. Her pussy feels impossibly wet. How many more times did he come inside her while she was sleeping?

“Dimitri _\--_ ” It was supposed to be a question, but it's a moan.

“ _Byleth_ ,” he groans, and jams his hips tight against her ass. She can feel his balls twitching against her thigh, his ragged gasps in her ear as hot liquid overflows from her cunt. It trickles down her thigh and she realizes they're already soaked, that the sheets under her hip are tacky and damp.

“What...time is it?” she pants.

“The bell rang six a little while ago.” He nuzzles her shoulder. “Did you not hear?”

She shakes her head. “I was asleep until I came just now.”

“Oh.” He sounds startled, and a bit embarrassed. “You were being so responsive, I thought you had woken up several rounds ago.”

“How many rounds has it been? I feel so...” Thoroughly used, she supposes, but she doesn't think he'd take that the way she means it. It's a pleasant sort of used, a filthy satisfaction that coils hot in her stomach. “Wet,” she finally says.

“I...” Dimitri clears his throat. “I lost track.”

“Oh,” she says, and the thought makes her shiver with a strange arousal. “Can it be one more?”

It's three more.

It might've been four, but before they can start again there's a knock at the door and it starts to open. She grabs for something to throw over them so whoever is entering doesn't get an eyeful of the archbishop naked in the king's lap, freshly-creamed pussy dripping onto his shaft and balls as he plays with her tits—but it only opens far enough for someone to slide a heavily-laden breakfast tray into the room. “Do you need anything, your majesties?” calls a voice she recognizes as Dimitri's valet.

“Not at the moment, Alain, thank you,” Dimitri calls back evenly, rolling her nipples between his fingers.

The door closes, leaving them alone again.

“I suppose we should probably eat,” Dimitri says after a moment, unhanding her tits. “You must be hungry.”

She is. “Aren't you?”

“I should eat, yes.” He sounds exactly as enthusiastic at the prospect as he always does.

While Byleth wipes herself up again, Dimitri manages to figure out which wardrobe her nightclothes ended up in. They don dressing gowns and bring the tray over to the chairs by the fire that they paused to rekindle at some point between the bed and the sofa.

Whoever put this meal together was very concerned about their energy. There's tea, and porridge with dried fruit and cream--but also smoked fish, cured meat, a thick wedge of cheese, boiled eggs, preserves, fresh bread and pastries, and a jug of cider.

There's also a small covered bowl that releases a plume of pungent steam when she takes the lid off. Inside is some kind of soup, limp herbs and what look like boiled nuts floating in a murky amber broth that smells intensely meaty.

“What is this?” she asks, tilting the bowl. It smells too rich for breakfast. And there's not enough to share.

Dimitri shifts awkwardly. “I...believe that's for you.”

“Why me?” She picks up the accompanying spoon and pokes at it. Is that seaweed? “You still outrank me here.” Admittedly, it doesn't look like much of a royal delicacy. More like what you'd feed someone recovering from a stab wound.

“Typically, that dish is eaten to strengthen the blood for a healthy pregnancy,” Dimitri says with a flush, layering cheese and meat onto a piece of bread and folding it up into a parcel he can eat in as few bites as possible. “Or a successful conception.”

She snorts. “Given how much jizz I had to mop out of my cunt when I pissed this morning, I doubt we need much help.”

He coughs in surprise, hand flying to his mouth to cover the bite he just took. Once he's chewed, he clears his throat. “I...do apologize for making such a mess of you.”

“Don't. I liked it.” She gives the flaccid medicinal plants lurking in the broth one last look before steeling herself and taking a large spoonful. It honestly tastes better than it looks, even if it's not what her mouth is hoping for first thing in the morning.

Her hesitation must have shown on her face, though, because Dimitri says, “The soup may have been intended for you, but I'm happy to eat it if you would prefer not to.”

She shrugs. She's still not used to her face broadcasting things, it's disconcerting. “It's fine. I don't mind it.” She takes another bite. “Do you think I can get it with dinner next time though? It's not what I think of as breakfast fare.”

Dimitri laughs. “The kitchens likely got a bit overenthusiastic. My own breakfast yesterday was a large plate of liver and apples.” He says it as if he doesn't find the kitchens fussing over his sexual prowess anything notable. She supposes that unlike her, he's already used to having an entire country concerned with his fertility.

She almost asks if that's what had him so energetic, but on second thought, she's pretty sure it must have been a crest thing. He'd mentioned his contributing to his stamina before, but she hadn't been thinking of... _stamina._

After finishing the soup, she starts on the more appetizing parts of the meal. It's more than either of them usually eats for breakfast, but she was hungrier than she thought, and between them they manage to finish it off.

She's feeling a bit weighted down, though. She's definitely not going to want sex again for...at least an hour.

“I guess at some point we should probably leave the bedroom,” she says. “If only so they get a chance to change the sheets.”

Dimitri chuckles. “They'll have time during the feast tonight.”

Right. Because royal weddings are apparently multi-day celebrations. At least this feast should be more intimate, as she's told it's held specifically for Faerghus' elite to get to know the new queen. With the recent war and absorption of the Empire and Alliance, Faerghus' elite is a very different group than it was six years ago, and due to many of them sending their children as representatives, she already knows most of the people she'll be expected to socialize with all evening. It's not until tomorrow that they'll have a chance for the celebration they really want to have, though. With _all_ of their friends, including those who aren't titled enough that they could attend tonight's dinner without horrifically offending some viscount who wasn't invited. Politics.

“Have you slept at all?” she asks. “You should rest for at least a few hours. We have time.”

His mouth twists, like he wants to argue, but she thinks she and Dedue have successfully worn him down on the importance of taking care of himself (mostly). “I'll try.”

“At least try while I wash up,” she says. “If you can't fall asleep by the time I'm done I'll get off your back.”

He nods resolutely, like he's accepting a mission. “Very well.”

She doesn't bother filling the bath again, just lets a few inches of water into the bottom and sits down in it with a rag. When she gets out, Dimitri's slumped back in one of the armchairs, breathing evenly.

She looks at the bedsheets. Yeah, she can see why he chose the armchair.

...They really had a ridiculous amount of sex, didn't they. Hopefully it won't be like that every time they try to fuck, or once their schedules resume they'll have to choose between being perpetually exhausted and perpetually horny. She suspects they were both just...hungry, though. This was a long time coming.

She hasn't had that many opportunities to watch Dimitri sleep, but his face looks more peaceful than any of the times prior. She's glad. Hopefully he gets some restful sleep in.

And then, well...they'll probably still have at least four hours to kill before dinner.

Maybe they can make it all the way to the next room this time.

**Author's Note:**

> If this is a general Blaiddyd crest thing, I'm imagining the castle gossip. Grey-haired senior maids who were around when Dimitri's mother was alive and have weathered a plague, a regicide, and a coup...cackling and waggling their eyebrows at the sprightly young things sent to go change the king's wedding bedsheets and telling them to bring a mop and bucket.
> 
> EDIT: This fic now has sexy gorgeous fanart by @Kariniarts!!! Go check it (and the rest of her stuff) out [here](https://twitter.com/Kariniarts/status/1314355457507565568)!


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